You and I
by Roriette
Summary: Funny how it takes some cannons, a ship on fire, and an endless voyage to an island for Squalo to figure it out. And in the end, he and Colonello are still strangers. Squalo/Colonello


**Rori's Corner:** Yeah, pay attention to this place. Move your eyes to the right.

'Kay, you may scream now.

Hey, I have a grand feeling that I'm about to get kicked _just_ for the scroll bar! Talk about premonition.

* * *

You and I

* * *

They were accomplices; companions at most, here to keep each other company while battling on the same battlefield for the same team. They were even in different sectors of the army: Colonello in the navy while Squalo was the strategist on the frontier. In fact, had the navy and the military not made to cooperate on this mission, they wouldn't have met personally, and instead, even today, would have only heard of the other through rumors.

There was a certain efficiency in the way they acted towards each other. It was profession, the way they exchanged mutual greetings and words, but there was an underlying electricity that pulled Squalo to Colonello when no one else was around to serve as witness. It always started with the basics, barely scratching the surface, something to stabilize the amiability, just like any other normal conversation or interaction. He would ask Colonello how the navy was behaving, if there were any problems he needed to report to the emperor, such as his job as the supervisor, and then go on to explain the tactics the navy needed to follow upon reaching land.

Colonello would react with ease, nodding to show that he understood perfectly well and agreed with Squalo's strategies, not once batting an eye. He would often give advice to improve the frontier's casualty rate, which Squalo found to be quite useful, and then he'd slowly drop his chief-of-the-navy facade to replace it with the cheerful and bright personality that always seemed to remind Squalo of another blond, but Colonello was different – he acted carefree, but he was mature and guarded at all times. His eyes told a different story if Squalo pried deeper, and his lean figure and his constant hold on the long-range gun proved him strong, which was probably the main reason Squalo became interested in the navy's captain. Maybe if he continued to think of Colonello in that perspective, this strict tension between them would remain friendly.

Blinking at what was pointed at his forehead, he observed the wooden surface of the gun and the index resting on the trigger. Colonello was grinning, his blonde hair, lighter than the idiotic bronco's, turning even lighter under the sun in the horizon. Squalo leaned back, looking at him with a raised brow. "Do you dare to shoot me?"

"It's at gunpoint, kora. Show some kind of reaction already, Mister Supervisor." He retracted the gun, patting it affectionately before hooking it to his belt. His blue bandana fluttered in the ocean breeze.

"What kind of reaction do you expect from a swordsman who's slain a hundred other swordsmen?"

"The cold reaction, of course," concluded Colonello.

Squalo gave him a toothy smirk. Shark-like. "Which was precisely my reaction."

"Playing a prank on you would be fun."

"Voi, don't even be inclined to attempt that," growled Squalo fiercely. The navy chief only laughed, shoulders shaking with laughter. "If you ever do, just remember that I fed a prankster to the sharks."

"You're so defensive, kora."

"Afraid, Colonello? I can do the very same to you, right here, right now." The hilt of the blade tilted the blond's head up, and Squalo smirked, canines glinting. "I'm more than just a strategist." Something poked his abdomen, and glancing down, he saw the barrel of the gun.

"And I'm more than just the chief of the navy, kora!"

They sprang apart, weapon grasped firmly in hand, eyes challenging each other. Colonello was the first to fire a warning shot into the sky, shocking a flock of birds from their nest. Following suit, Squalo sliced the air with his lengthy sword, cutting the dust in a wide arc. Before they could properly induce a practice battle, a dozen men had arrived on the deck, crowding the previously spacious vicinity. "_Voooi!_ What do you guys want?" snarled Squalo, flicking his hand impatiently.

"Sir, we heard a gunshot. Is everything all right?"

"We're good. Just practicing," replied Colonello. He withdrew his gun. "Is lunch already prepared?"

"Yes."

"Well, see ya, Superbi Squalo!" He flashed the long-haired man a grin, waving a hand and then turning on his back. "Go eat lunch or something. We're about to reach land in a couple, kora. Don't want our supervisor to end up eating roasted human meat, now, do we?" A few of the navy soldiers chuckled before realizing who the joke was on, and then promptly stiffened, straightening themselves out while heading for the cafeteria.

Squalo grumbled something incoherent, his expression turning simply murderous. Lunch would be disastrous.

And somehow he was right. While Colonello went with his navy companions, and they were tested to be civilized beings before the lunch table, Squalo was forced to endure the lousiness of his fellow frontier army who had no experience with eating on a rocking ship. Not only were they uncoordinated, they simply couldn't keep a straight conversation without shouting over the others. He supposed it was their way to adapt to a new environment, firmly fixed on the idea that navy men were as outrageous as they, which was a wrong idea in itself. Squalo would rather have lunch with the navy instead of the crisis that was his frontier men.

"VOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOI, be quiet, you dawdling fools!"

They shut up at once; all eyes swiveled on him.

And then they broke out again. "Welcome back, Squalo!"

"How was the deck? I heard you met with the captain of the other team!"

"Hey, supervisor, you're switching teams on us, eh?"

"Ahahaha! That's a grand idea, Roberto! To think our chief has developed a _taste_!"

"Stop it, both of you! You're making this place unlivable! If we don't get thrown to the sharks first."

They chuckled.

"Hey, none of us met the famous navy chief. How was he like, Squalo?"

"Yeah, you can't keep us in suspense forever!"

"My daughter met him once, and she's all over him, man, it's kind of embarrassing."

"We don't care about your daughter, Leonard! Talking about our dear ol' chief over here, so shush."

As if on cue, the noise stilled abruptly, each curious pairs of eyes once again turning focus on a gravely silent swordsman. There was a vein pulsing angrily in the man's temple. The cafeteria was deathly quiet, and it remained so for a few more overwhelming moments before the door was opened, and a cheery voice announced, "Hey, guys! How's everyone? I just got back from scouting the deck. Uh, Squalo? Hey - "

"Shut. UP!" Squalo's fist landed squarely on Yamamoto's cheek, sending him crashing into the steel door with a thundering noise.

There was a red mark on the latter's face, coupled with a bruise on the side of his lip. Yamamoto struggled to sit up on the floor, absentmindedly rubbing the injury with a hand. He still tried to smile through the pain. "G-good afternoon, Squalo?"

"You freaking _idiot_," growled the swordsman, glaring down at the sheepish teen. He was aware of the silence in the room and how everyone forgot to eat because his attention was riveted on the scene. Squalo stalked over to the boy, dragging him up by the collar, not caring for the choked splutter coming from Yamamoto. "You need to learn to stop wearing that ridiculous grin, got it, Yamamoto? This is the _army_, not your everyday street act. This place isn't for crappy jokes, it's a place where you put your life on the line for your country, and this goes for every single one of you in the room. You think it's fun and good for your pride when you're in the army? Good, you can still think that once you kill a man." He let go of Yamamoto's military uniform, letting him lean on the door for support. Turning to face the entire frontier army, Squalo spat out dangerously, "Grow some backbone for the time-being. We're about to reach land in a couple of hours past midnight, and if I hear one of you – even _one_ of you – complain once we set foot on dry land, you will all suffer countless hours of training. Understood?"

"Understood," they replied in unison.

He didn't miss the exchange of glances. Walking past Yamamoto, Squalo muttered lowly, his face turned away intentionally, "I was a bit rough, but it's time you get used to being reprimanded."

Yamamoto chuckled, still wearing that pathetic grin. "Ah, I know. Don't worry about it, Squalo."

Some people just don't change. But that's good. Squalo let a small, grim smile grace his lips. Noise erupted as soon as he left.

Perhaps, somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the magnetic pull for what it was. Maybe it was new, it never happened before, he wasn't used to it, he just didn't have the patience in figuring it out – or maybe he just was afraid to find out what it really was, but it didn't matter, because Superbi Squalo didn't intend on breaking the bubble that was the word platonic. It was probably just interest that kept him from attacking Colonello with his blade, excluding the play fight that occurred earlier. After all, he never refrained from assaulting someone that he considered worthy enough of an opponent. Despite knowing this, the emperor, Sawada Tsunayoshi, still trusted him enough to place him as the strategist for the combination of navy and military invasion. Maybe it was set up with a purpose.

Now that he thought about it, the emperor's guidance, Reborn, seemed to have encouraged the idea. It wasn't as if this invasion was a particularly important battle; if they won, they would've just regained land, and if they lost, there would be close to no consequence. Alarming the army members to strict reform in this case was pointless, since the opponent this time was weak. And so why would Reborn want the navy and the military to cooperate on such a tedious mission? Was it to reduce tension as he claimed, or was there another reason behind the main reason? If the rumor were true, Colonello was a close friend of Reborn's – that might be a factor he could add to solving this.

Squalo stood up, boots thumping on the wooden floor as he came to the oval window, looking out at the rush of the waves splashing the side of the ship. There was another battleship behind theirs, and quite possibly several more after that one. This was an invasion. He was always the chief of the frontier army, but now he was also a strategist. It didn't quite make sense, although his strategies so far had been an overall success. How did the chief of the navy add into this matter? He and Colonello had interacted quite smoothly, almost like friends. Yet they were still just companions on the battlefield. What did Reborn want from this?

Could he have figured out Squalo's interest in the navy's captain? It wasn't difficult. Reborn already knew he liked people who were tough to break.

_Knock, knock._

Stunned by the sudden noise, his reaction was a few seconds late. "What is it?" He reminded himself to not let his guard down again. He half expected Yamamoto to come in and ask him where his bamboo sword was. If the kid did come in for that purpose, he was going to punch him harder this time.

"The chief of the navy told me to pass the map of the island over to you."

"Come in."

"Yes, sir."

What he didn't expect to see was five unidentified men behind masks standing in the doorway with guns in hand. They were all wearing the forest green military uniform. Somehow, seeing that, he felt his temperature shoot up fifty degrees. "What the hell?" was the first thing he uttered before a round of shots was hurled straight at him. He ducked, immediately unsheathing his sword, cursing the capacity of his bedroom. There was almost nowhere to hide.

But then, he remembered he didn't need to hide.

"VOOOOOOOOOOOI, YOU BASTARDS!" he roared, dashing as quickly as lightning over to the door, shielding himself with the blade all the while. A shot slit open his left sleeve, coating his arm with warm blood, but he didn't care. He barely felt the sting when adrenaline was pumping so forcefully through his veins. The men stumbled back, staggering into each other while still trying to fire accurately and failing the whole time, alarmed by the beast-like transformation of the feminine man. Squalo swung his sword, sending something in his room clattering to the floor at the same time an opponent fell just outside the door. Blood seeped from beneath his body. "You guys are pretty confident to attack me in the daylight, huh?" This time he ruthlessly sliced open a man's stomach, batting him to the side with the flat end of his sword and then reaching for another intruder. The person recoiled, and Squalo was almost impressed by how wordless they all were. No screaming, no calling for help. But being impressed by them won't save any lives.

The pointy end of the blade drove straight into the man's heart. Blood spurted out, painting the hallway a splash of dotted red. Squalo liked the color more than the white walls. Heaving slightly, he glanced around for any other intruders. The first five were already dead, and he didn't doubt there were more. A moment later, he went back to his room, noting the cleanly separated shelf lying on the floor. Ignoring it, he pressed a red button on the side of the bed. The loud alarm went off, and all of a sudden, there were bangs of doors being opened to accommodate the irritating noise. A second later, another alarm began to sound. It was like the noise a dolphin made, and Squalo deciphered it to be the navy's alarm. He evaded the dead men sprawled outside his chamber, heading for the deck as other army members also made their way. Soon, they were stuffed on the deck, all the while trying to make room for new additions.

Colonello was at the foot of the deck, standing next to the statue of Athena with his arms crossed. He was already in his dark vest and camo pants; navy attire. When he spotted Squalo, he beckoned him over wordlessly. He was tense.

"VOOOI, is everyone here?" Squalo shouted into the crowd, seeing the winces and grumbles and relishing in them. "So you guys are aware that we have intruders?"

"They also invaded your chamber?" Colonello questioned.

"It seems the pests' main priority is the chiefs. As expected. But this," Squalo's voice hardened, eyes flashing icily at the restless army, "means we have more intruders. Perhaps even in the other battleships."

"This over-complicates matters. It seems we won't be able to make it to our destination without problems, kora."

A crew member remarked from the crowd, "We have enemies on board with us!"

"You idiots!" hissed Squalo, raising his foot on a stool at the bottom of the statue. "Don't go starting a battle royal on the ship, unless you want to wreck it. If you have any plans of starting one, I'll throw you over to the sharks." He could see that Colonello was trying not to comment; his lips were twitching. Instead, he pulled himself together, standing straight like a prominent navy chief.

"We'll have to check out the fleet, but for now, kora, we'll be supervising our own ship. Traitors who turn themselves in will earn a less harsh penalty. And for those who don't...I'm sure we already know what happens to them, kora." There was a thin smirk across his lips, but he didn't look at all amiable. He was icy and a dangerous asset as the navy chief. He was Colonello, one of the seven strongest fighters, and right now he held everyone at gunpoint. "It'll be easy," he continued to say, closing an eye as his index stroked the trigger. The barrel was aimed at a thirty-year-old crew member who was part of the navy for quite a long time, and the man grinned laxly. Colonello smiled, and then there was absolute silence when he pressed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"The safety's on. But next time it won't be, kora."

Just like others, Squalo was pulled in by the tension. He quickly untangled himself by shouting, "Everyone's guard must be up! We don't know what's going to happen at this rate. We don't even know who sent the intruders. Carry a weapon at all times. Ring the alarm or blow the whistle if there are any attacks. You're all dismissed."

The meeting took place in Colonello's chamber, which was much better furnished than Squalo's. It was to be expected from someone who had lived on a ship his entire life. The wall was painted sky blue, the floor was not wooden but white marble. There was a work desk and a bed next to it. Squalo didn't sit on one of the comfortable sofas. He decided to stand, since he was still not completely friends with the navy chief. Colonello didn't bother with hospitality; instead, he headed straight for his work desk where a world map lay. "What do you plan to do, Colonello?"

"We're at a dangerous standing right now, kora. I only have a vague idea who the enemy is, and it's possible all the other fleets are captured by the intruders. Most likely the leader of this invasion is not on board, but maybe we can figure something with the corpses lying around, kora."

Squalo nodded, silver eyes accessing the circles and triangles that the chief himself had drawn on the map. He then went to the door, telling the guard to bring the dead to this chamber within ten minutes flat. Time was a valuable asset. When he came back to the chamber, he found the captain undressing, the first layer of his navy uniform carelessly thrown on the mattress. Watching soundlessly, Squalo found himself transfixed by the faded scars across the man's toned back and remembered thinking to himself that despite Colonello being the powerful fighter he was, his waist was really slim. It was such a random thought that he tore his attention away, focusing on the painting of a dolphin pinned to the corner of the room instead. His ears felt warm, and he shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

"It's probable our intruder is someone I know, kora, and if so, we can easily lure him out. He must know that we have something he wants, and that's why he attacked us earlier. Though, frankly, even if we don't have the desired object, the idiot will still attack us. He's obsessed with controlling the sea channels." Colonello pulled on a black shirt, a casual attire, and by this simple action, it told Squalo that the navy chief was comfortable with him.

It made him unable to resist a small smile.

He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the sounds of footsteps. The crew members must be dragging the corpses over. "What do you think we have that the enemy wants?"

Colonello's cerulean irises flicked over at him, and there was that thin smirk again. It said that the situation was fairly dangerous yet at the same time laughable. "It's a mundane item that no one else would have considered of importance, but to this guy, it bears the price of fool's gold."

Squalo didn't know what to think, and the polite knock on the door saved him from asking any questions. "Come in." Was it going to be an attack?

Thankfully there were no masks this time, and the soldiers appeared with three dead men in their wake. "Sir, you wanted to inspect these corpses?"

"Yeah." Colonello walked to the side of a dead man, kneeling down on one knee while pulling on plastic gloves. Squalo stayed stationary, observing what the blond had to show as one of the top fighters on the battlefield. It certainly didn't seem like he was a scientist, but being in the navy must've given him experience regarding invasions in retrospect. With silent contemplation, the captain worked over the corpses, looking through the chest and pants pockets, emptying out any wallets or containers on their person, sometimes ending up with likely clues but later discarding them as trash, and towards the end of the inspection, Colonello offered that there was nothing useful in the bodies besides the faces, which he recognized for being the unselected people of the drafting season.

"If that's all, captain, we'll be going."

"Go ahead, kora."

As soon as the crew members left with the dragging weight, Squalo turned on the navy chief, inquiries after inquiries blinking at him. "If the idiot intruders are unselected, then doesn't that mean we can find them easily? Anyone who've been in the army for a while can tell who's new."

"Certainly seems like that, doesn't it, kora. If whoever is targeting our fleet can only tame the newbies, we have a lead. The potential invader has proven himself ridiculous in the brain countless times before, so I don't doubt this case will go by with ease." Colonello opened the drawer, producing something in his hand, and Squalo looked at him questioningly. The blond turned to face him, lips curling, index twirling the object. The atmosphere lightened by degrees.

"A duct tape...What do you plan to do with that?"

Colonello laughed, and Squalo glared at him. "It's unthinkable the things that idiot takes a fancy to, kora. I just knew he'd appear for this."

The swordsman's jaw slackened. "Our enemy attacked us for _this_? Voi, I find it hard to believe, Colonello."

"If I didn't know the traitor like you, I would have reacted the same, kora. But this is as expected of that fool." He poked at the roll of polyethylene, picking the etched surface until it uncoiled. Pulling the trail, he stretched the tape until it reached to the size of his index finger, and then he held it out to Squalo, who gave him a snort in disbelief. "Do you know of a guy named Skull?" he asked when the supervisor reluctantly took hold of the object.

Skull? Of course Squalo had heard of him – that infamous ship-wrecking, sea monster tamer. Was it possible the man was responsible for the intrusion? "Isn't he one of the top seven?" It must be his luck to be in the company of one of the strongest fighters, Colonello, but to be able to witness another in the potential battlefield? He inwardly smirked, mentally thanking Reborn.

The blond made a disapproving noise, making a point in his disagreement. "If he is, he's one of the worst, kora. The idiot is a disgrace. He became obsessed with duct tape, specifically this one – my personal tape, after he saw me patching up my military uniform with it."

Squalo cut off a piece of duct tape, wondering what he should do with it.

"There's a possibility that he'll try to wreck our fleet, kora. We don't know when he'll strike, but I suppose we can use the tape as bait."

"This?" Squalo pointed to the object in his hand, looking not very impressed.

"Yeah. The idiot must be seriously crazy to try to attack _me_, kora." Colonello went to the bed, kneeled down, and rummaged under the mattress to retrieve a suitcase. He flicked the lock to the right numbers and opened the box, showing a shotgun and a rifle.

Squalo was about to remark on the shotgun, but then both the navy and the military alarms rang simultaneously to induce a hazardous sound. He looked Colonello in the eye, and they both nodded. He thrust the door open, making it bang against the wall, and then ran for the deck with the navy not far behind. There were already grunts and cries coming from the exit, and he thought that they were quickly being ambushed by someone, or some people. A body slumped onto the floor – he recognized the uniform as part of the navy's – and he went to check if the man's pulse was beating. It was, but he was unconscious.

"Chief, over here!"

He stood up, abandoning the soldier, and Colonello had caught up with him.

The deck was in a horrible disarray with lifeless bodies and countless fighting men with swords and guns at each other's neck. Blood splattered over the wooden surface, like fresh paint, and all the battleships were in a row. Masked soldiers were climbing from fleet to fleet to get the this ship. Squalo quickly reacted, jumping over a body to slash his blade into an intruder's neck. He let the red liquid taint his coat. Something went off, and with a tremor, the whole ship shook. He looked over at Colonello to see if he had fired any shots, but the blond was still, eyes wide, staring at the sky. "Voi, Colonello! What's going on?" he shouted, knocking a stumbling man aside who'd been shot with a gun.

"Get down, everyone!" the navy captain thundered, making all ears pay attention, and the fighting men followed his horrified gaze towards the sky, seeing a quickly approaching cannon projectile. They scrambled to disperse, and the crew member at the steering wheel hastened to pull the ship away. Squalo stabbed the sword point into a masked man's abdomen, letting him fall to the ground with a thump, and then proceeded to reach the other side just as the bullet crashed, splintering wood flying everywhere and causing smoke to obscure the area. A chunk of the ship had been broken in.

Warm liquid oozed from his wrist, and he looked down to see a jagged cut. Nothing he couldn't handle. His anger bristled, and he glanced up to check if there were anymore shots. Where the hell was the pilot? He was threatening everyone with his speedy driving skills.

Colonello fired his shotgun into the other fleets, and several men toppled over. The ship itself was being fought over by the military and navy soldiers, and the masked men were quickly dying in a heap. Squalo defeated three intruders with a single strike while reaching the blond. "What if you shot our men?" he asked when he was close enough.

"They aren't our men, the ones controlling the cannons, kora."

With a lightning flash, a cannon ball had hit the back of the ship, and the whole being trembled, sending men sprawling across the deck and bumping into the railing. Some shots misfired and hit someone else by mistake. Squalo staggered with the quake, but reinstated himself by holding the railing. Colonello cursed, firing a round of shots into the distance where the fleet was catching up. On the deck, there were only a couple masked intruders left, cornered by angry crew members.

"VOOOOI, kill them!" Squalo ordered.

They had two people fire multiple shots into each invader, and the blood splash was devastating yet satisfying. For now, there should be no enemies on board. The soldiers were all covered with cuts, bruises, and some shot. The casualty rate was high, if the death rate weren't higher. Just a look around the corpses and bodies with missing heads would make someone vomit all the digested meals.

"Are they catching up?" a weak question came from a tired navy soldier.

Colonello answered after a pensive second, "The bastards are, kora. Along with those damn cannons."

As he was talking, another was being fired into the air. Squalo turned around and yelled voraciously, "Tell the pilot to hurry the hell up! Does he want us all to die or _what_?"

Accompanied by a _whizz_-ing noise, he looked out into the horizon to see four cannons being fired, one which had a low momentum and dropped prematurely into the ocean, the other three racing across the vast expanse of orange, canary yellow amongst blue-pinkish sky and white clouds to reach the ship.

"_Holy sh – _"

"How the hell are we going to survive this?"

"The safety boats!" Colonello yelled, pointing his index at the storage next to the trapdoor. "Get them out! We're not going to make it, kora! Where's the pilot?" He glanced back to see two cannons dropping into the water, but the last one was going to hit its mark. Several more shots were being projected. They had no time to waste, if they were going to survive.

The men hastened to follow orders, taking out the spare boats and throwing them into the ocean, hooking the spare to the railing with ropes. They dragged out the safety belts and inflatable rings, and the crew wasted no time in steeling themselves for the jump. The sky was darkening, and all of a sudden it was pouring rain, droplets after droplets falling madly. Were there enough boats and equipments for fifty men?

Squalo grabbed a safety belt, cursing under his breath at the rain, and then another chunk of the ship was blown apart. At this rate, the whole thing would sink. The deck was occupied with too many people, and the end had nothing to keep it balanced. It was a life versus death situation – there were going to be people who would die today, and people who would survive and then become victim to the unwelcoming ocean waves. But the strongest would live. He looked over at Colonello, whose blonde hair was matted down by the rain, and his clear eyes were squinting against water droplets. The wind swished and overrode other noises, and a clash of lightning sounded. It was all surreal and real, and Squalo wondered if they were really going to make it.

It didn't seem possible.

"Colonello, it's useless to try to aim in this weather!" he yelled, tasting cold water.

The captain fired a few more shots into the dark distance, and then he turned around, and Squalo saw fierce blue. They were ultimately angry. It was a sight he didn't want to forget. They stood like that for only five seconds, when it felt like forever, but forever wasn't going to halt the reality and give them survival, and so Squalo, thinking that the blond was just going to stand there, bewildered by the realization that his ship wasn't going to see land, reached over and grasped the clammy hand, tugging it hard enough that the man stumbled. "You seriously want to die?" he shouted, as if normal, everyday speech were no longer possible.

Colonello steadied himself, seeing his men jump from the ship to swim to the spare boats. The situation hit him solidly in his pride, and he was incoherent. It wasn't possible that _his_ ship would be wrecked. "I – I, this – "

"Let's go, because we'll get killed if we don't," declared Squalo resolutely, leaving no room for argument as he steered them to the railing. There was an unreserved boat bobbing at the bottom. He turned back to see fire eating the deck from the back of the ship, battling against the wind and the plummeting rain. It was a monster. "Here, the safety belt so we don't drown." Something butted him to the side, causing him to slide on the deck several feet away from the roaring flames, and he cracked open a murderous eye to see Colonello lying, sprawled, next to another chunk in the ship. Something was dripping from under the wet bandana – it was bloody red. "What the hell, Colonello?" he growled, alarmed, and limped over to the blond. His foot must've caught something, because it hurt.

It must be another cannon shot, he decided. The heat coming from the cackling flames that slowly swallowed up the ship was strangely comforting. "Colonello! Hey, Colonello, don't tell me you died." It was all pretty clear to him: the captain pushed him out of the way when he saw the cannon flying for the deck and consequently took the impact. It was this nobility the man was known for, and in the end...He checked Colonello's wrist, feeling for a steady pulse, and he stood up, carrying the man with him, slinging his arm over his shoulder. He clicked the safety belt unto the chief, and they were at the tip of the ship with several other crew members left. Blood seeped through the latter's stomach, coating the black shirt with red, and Squalo didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to think the man would die. After all, he did save his life.

The water looked unforgiving, but when he glanced back at the creeping flames and saw more cannons being fired into the sky, and also the fleet driving closer and closer, he leaped, dragging Colonello with him.

Clothes pulled him down, an additional weight, but the safety belt kept him afloat, if not dangerously. His long hair was a mess, and he blinked the splash of oceanic water out of his eyes, feeling the salt irritate them. The dive was bitterly suffocating, especially coupled with the fear of drowning when water engulfed him on all sides, and he had surfaced within a minute of direly holding his breath, bobbing up to breathe oxygen. Maneuvering with soggy clothes would be a hassle. He tried to swim, but the slightest hint that he might sink caused him to stop and float. Was he always so fearful of the water?

He looked around, seeing the fire consume the ship full, illuminating the area with its terrifying red light. There weren't anymore cannons being shot, because the invaders must've realized that the overthrown ship was done for. Squalo cursed at himself and everything else, bitterly swearing away the rain and storm. The only thing he was grateful for was the boat bobbing in front him, large enough to fit seven men, and he grasped the rim, wondering how to get up without tipping the thing over. Another concern filtered through his desperate mind, and he froze.

Where was Colonello?

"Shit!" he roared, seeing something surface and then disappear into the water again several feet away. "Don't you freakin' dare drown on me, Colonello!" he shouted, swimming to get to the man. He reached into the ocean, and with the help of the fire's light, he located a dark area in the water. Quickly, he snatched whatever he could grasp onto and pulled upwards. With a heave and a splash, Colonello's pale face emerged, eyes shut and mouth trickling with water. Squalo hastily tugged at the latter's arm, leading them closer and closer to the spare boat. "Don't die," he found himself muttering repeatedly. "Don't freakin' die on me." Somehow or another, they finally were beside the boat, and he, with new found strength given birth by his frustration, shoved the navy captain up and over until he lay unconscious in the tight space. Squalo heaved with difficult breathing, having exhausted his stored resolve in an attempt to regain his shark-like trait.

His arms felt uselessly drained, and he wondered if he could actually bring himself to carry this through. "VOOOOOOOI!" he thundered, voice shallow against the storming winds. He pushed himself, tested his limits as he gripped the rim, hoping that Colonello's weight would satisfy the balance, and then lifted a leg onto the boat, battling the drenched pants, and when he thought the object would remain still, he climbed on. He dropped into the boat, shuddering at the coldness of it all and the relentless drought. Glancing down at the unconscious figure, he smiled grimly when he noticed the small breath Colonello took. His blonde hair was matted and sticking all over the place, but the bandana stayed miraculously in place. The blood seeping through his stomach had been washed out somewhat by the water.

Would he survive at this rate?

All of a sudden, he wanted to beat something up, but his subdued state wouldn't have been capable of anything but to drop dead in deep sleep. However, he feared that the continuing storm would pick up the ocean in waves, and if he were sleep when that happened, there was no chance of surviving through this at all. He looked at the burning ship, and memories of when things were peaceful surfaced. He blinked, but he knew it was an attempt to push back unmanly tears. Squalo thumped his fist on the wooden boat, crying out in anguish, "Damn it all!" How did it turn out like this? Was there a possibility that they would reach the island at this point? It was probably around seven by now.

He turned his attention back on Colonello, watching the blond's eyelids flit restlessly, head turning, and his dry lips twitching. He was whispering something. Squalo leaned down, bestowing his ear to the faint voice.

"Cold...it's cold..." A shudder ran through Colonello; it was visible enough for him to witness. This was perhaps the most vulnerable the man could get. He was only wearing a casual black shirt and cargo pants. The water must have been freezing.

Squalo hesitated, but something about the way the rain thundered on the world, so rebelliously and thoughtlessly, made him want to do something just as rebellious and thoughtless. The rain made him pull the chief up, drag him to the middle where he sat, and then manipulate the blond so that the back of his head rested on Squalo's chest, and the rest of his body facing the end of the boat, surrounded by his long legs. Droplets fell after the other, taking away the warmth spreading across Squalo's face, and though the rain was cold, the heat between their bodies was anything but. He distracted himself by looking up at the grey sky, blinking away the droplets. The wind was churning, and he knew it was soon going to make the ocean tremble with waves.

Colonello coughed, and he felt the force through the close contact they shared. There was another cough, and then the blond was silent save for his pained breathing. The boat was constantly shifting, and Squalo noticed that they were moving away from the burning ship. He didn't do anything to stop it. In fact, it might be a good thing. He comforted himself with the thought, lifting his hand to the other's abdomen, and when he held it up, there was blood. He grimaced. There needed to be something to keep the blood from spilling anymore than necessary. Abruptly, he recalled having duct tape stored in his coat.

Several minutes later, he had Colonello, who remained barely subconscious, facing him. However, the injured chief had slumped against him, his head resting on the crook between his neck and shoulder. Squalo tried not to pay any mind to that, but the shuttered breaths against his skin didn't help at all. And when he lifted the shirt up after releasing the safety belt to expose the injury, Colonello had juddered uncontrollably, shaking like a fragile leaf. It was obscured by blood, and the night dampened his vision. When he inspected it further, it seemed as if the wound were from the explosion, since the skin was scraped and raw. It was about as big as his hand. Blood was still leaking, trailing down into his pants, and Squalo pulled out the duct tape. Hopefully it would still be able to glue, despite the water.

Colonello hissed, and his previously lax hands were now clenching Squalo's shoulders, squeezing, and the swordsman winced. That hurt. The chief obviously still had strength left over. He quickly taped the wound up with four pieces, but when the blood seeped through the first layer, he added a second top. When he was done, he pulled the shirt down and clasped the safety belt around his waist.

The wind was picking up, and so were the ocean waves. The boat was already beginning to bob more dangerously. Squalo didn't bother to create more breathing space between them, and it didn't seem as if Colonello would be able to try in his state. The silver-haired man was hit with the dawning assumption that there was really no chance of them surviving this. He had always been a fighter, but with the way the situation laid out for him, he couldn't put up a fight at all.

Was he angry?

Yes.

Was he afraid?

Yes.

Was he regretful?

No. He didn't particularly regret anything. This kind of death, to him, was a heroic enough death. It was on the battlefield, in the sea, and not somewhere rotting off by his lonesome. He wasn't going to die by himself, because Colonello, in the short time they'd met and understood each other, was going with him. But did that mean he liked this? No, not at all. Then, why was he so accepting of something this drastic? He hated the thought of his own death. But now, he was drained of any right to struggle against its choke-hold. No matter how much of a resistance he put up, he'd either die by drowning or struck by lightning.

But maybe, just maybe, he was so accepting because it wasn't a lonely journey. He was a coward that way. He preferred to be a lone wolf, yet when he faced the solitude, he couldn't help but hate it with every fiber of his being. Colonello, who was just as strong as he, was going to be pulled down with him. Was he crude for liking this? Yes, he'd admit so, because the blond might be reluctant to go down without a fight, and here he was with the idea that they would die together. Despite being the lone survivors on this boat, they were still strangers to each other. The only thing that kept them attached was death. Squalo let out a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering shut. Colonello remained unmoving, his head resting on him still.

The wind was howling now, the squall picking up its pace. Waves splashed the boat's sides, flicking water droplets at them, and this warned him of the ocean's wrath.

Something trickled down his cheek, but Squalo refused to open his eyes. The shifting weight on the crook of his neck gave him the impression that the navy chief was waking up. He raised his voice to rival the wind, "Hey, Colonello."

There was a distinct mumble.

"If we make it out alive, what do you think we should do to that scum?"

Colonello raised his head, cerulean clashing against silver. They flashed in vehemence, and Squalo's own irises narrowed in response. "Burn him at the stake, kora," the blond said weakly, but his tone was unforgiving. He didn't seem to care that he was leaning on the swordsman for support.

"And then feed him to the sharks, voi!" All he needed was the curl of lips in response. He reached with his blood-stained hand to the back of the blond's head, patting it down so that it was resting on his shoulder again. Colonello complied without a struggle. Squalo grinned, the smile promising promises, something that the wounded man couldn't see. The boat rocked, and his eyes closed.

There was no fighting it. The bravest men were the men who braved death. Squalo understood that, and there was no doubt that Colonello did, as well. They held onto each other like pillars of support, caged in the embrace throughout the storm's reproach. From the distance, there was a rising wave, steadily climbing higher and higher, and the boat was about to become victim to it if it remained stationary. When the wave was at its highest point, the crest towering over the ocean, Squalo's fiery eyes snapped open. Colonello had shifted, and his own blue met the silver for the second time, this time to prepare each other.

When the wave crashed, Squalo and Colonello were already underwater. Everything was a blur, and when they bobbed up to the surface, kept alive by the safety belt, they were both unconscious. Although they were dead to the world, they were connected by their intertwined hands.

The serene sound of water splashing against rocks filled his subconscious. There were also the seagulls gawking in the sky. He felt uncomfortable, albeit the peaceful quiet, and he coughed out water, eyes trying to peer through heavy eyelids. Was it possible...? Did they really – or was he only the one who survived? That thought stabbed into his thumping heart, the vessel beating crazily, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this anxious. Everything was still groggy, and he felt water coursing through him, stuffing him. "Damn it," he finally uttered, finding the urge to cuss more overwhelming than trying to figure things out. He was thirsty and starving, and he could feel the sun beating down on his eyelids.

Where was he? Where was Colonello, for that matter? He needed to open his eyes and check the surrounding. He felt like crap; utterly beat, and simply too lazy to attempt anything.

Finally, when he'd rested enough, he forced his eyes open.

First, he saw sand and little bespeckled shells in the dirt, and next was the oceanic blue, the ever-present body of water in his life, and finally, Colonello's figure lying much like his across the distance. Just the sight made even his numb lips crack in a small smile, and the notion was surprisingly easy to do. He was surprised that his mouth didn't split from the gesture, but that must be because they were stuck in water the whole time. Either way, it seemed as if they had landed on the beach.

But was he alive?

"Voi, Colonello," he called, but it came out as a whisper.

The blond waved a hand, head turned to the other side, and Squalo understood that he didn't have strength left to do much of anything else.

He suddenly felt lighter than ever – even his sodden clothes didn't weigh his spirit down. He didn't want to move at all, even though he knew Colonello's injury was a dangerous factor that couldn't be left alone for too long. The beach water caressed his face, washing away the specks of dirt on his skin and trapped in his long mane of silver. He struggled to growl, "We have to get you to a doctor."

Colonello didn't respond.

"Shit," spat Squalo, finding his arms too tired to hold him up. "The hell are we?"

"Paradise Isle," Colonello answered, his voice cracking.

"The island we were supposed to invade?"

The back of the blond's head nodded in confirmation, and then a groan in pain was heard. Squalo immediately became alert, eyes snapping over to observe the navy chief.

"Colonello, how long can you...?"

He shifted, and then Squalo saw his face, pools of blue glimmering like the ocean under the beach sun, the left half covered in blood. He looked like he was returning from war, and his eyes were telling a darker story than before. Nonetheless, there was a hint of hope in them that wasn't there prior.

In a way, that image was perfect. They were both returning from war. They cheated death. They were survivors.

And Colonello's eyelids were slowly fluttering shut, ever gently.

In a matter of seconds, Squalo had picked himself off the sand, despite knowing what caused his determination to stir, what revoked his spirit. But maybe, he knew. Maybe, somewhere collecting in his mind, he was frightened of what would happen to the captain, after all. It was just intuition and instinct at the same time, and he couldn't really be bothered to question his racing heart that threatened to overwhelm his logic.

Because, if Colonello closed his eyes, they were no longer survivors.

"Wake up!" he snapped, ruthlessly shaking the blond's shoulders. There was urgency and desperation in his voice, and he didn't understand why it cracked. What moved him? What made him snap? What was he trying to accomplish? "Colonello, don't joke around! If you freakin' close your eyes, if you dare close your eyes..." Without being aware of something trickling down his cheeks, he was already shedding tears. His vision was blurry, and despite his sore throat, he continued to demand the other to open his eyes in a voice that never listened.

Colonello still didn't respond, eyes closed in a tranquil way, as if he had no worries or concerns to keep him alive. His light eyelashes looked relatively transparent under the sun. What shook Squalo the most was the peaceful smile on the man's lips. Was he finally at peace with the world? Did he let go of life when it was in his grasp? Why...

"_COLOONELLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_!" he roared, stabbing the point of his sheathed sword into the sand, and rivulets of tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the dirt. He didn't try to hold them back, screaming out his frustration, anger, and guilt. Now, when he wasn't the one facing death, he felt remorse. He didn't accept this, not after all the effort he put into keeping the man alive. Why did he succumb to death _now_? His emotions were a confusing jumble; he couldn't think.

When he exhausted himself with venting out pent-up emotion, he kneeled beside Colonello, blocking the blond's face from the sun with his head. He looked down at the serene face, panting. The man looked dead in slumber.

Was he dead?

Was he asleep?

Where was he going?

"Damn it all," he growled, closing his eyes, trying to filter out thoughts of death and loneliness. What was he going to do now? What was the point? How was he –

There was something on his neck, and his silver eyes shot open. He instantly met Colonello's oceanic blue peering through halfway opened eyelids. His heart stopped beating.

The hand patted the back of his head weakly.

Squalo couldn't utter anything; no words came to mind. He was speechlessly shocked.

"I couldn't sleep with you shouting like that, kora," Colonello whispered, lips arching in a slight smirk.

Something squeezed the beating vessel so tightly that he almost couldn't breathe. Thankfully, the blond wasn't expecting an answer. He merely guided his head downward until their faces were centimeters apart, looking at each other at eye-level. Colonello had the nerve to grin. Squalo was sure his expression was murderous right now. The latter closed his eyes once more, and this time Squalo didn't feel anxious. The lack of distance between them didn't seem so awkward, maybe because he was too relieved by Colonello being alive to care.

"You bastard," he grumbled, but his eyes betrayed him.

Colonello was already asleep.

He stood up, leaned down, about to grab the blond's arms and pull him up, until he got a better idea. It was something he did out of revenge. He pushed Colonello's head up, hooked an arm under, and then wrapped the other around his thighs. With a heave, he had picked the chief up bridal style. The only response from Colonello was a twitch, but he was otherwise deep in slumber, head turning so that his face snuggled against his chest. Squalo, for the first time in a while, grinned his toothy shark grin. He muttered quietly, "If you died, I would've chased you into hell, myself."

There was something about the way the body in his arms swayed with his walking movements that influenced him to believe that Colonello had laughed.

Squalo smiled.

It was exactly five seconds later that he caught himself, but it was too late to replace it with a scowl.

* * *

**Rori's Corner:** Whoever plays _"My Heart will Go On"_ while reading, you rock.

Not that anyone's going to read this, but, theoretically.

BTW, this is for **Great Question**'s crack pairing contest:

**Pairing****:** Squalo and Colonello

**Prompt****:** Duct Tape


End file.
